


Thanks for Your Patience

by angellwings



Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, One Shot, Prompt Fic, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23113801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angellwings/pseuds/angellwings
Summary: [brettsey] [one shot] [prompt fill: "I can't think straight with you."] The wedding party had been introduced already, the eating was mostly done, and now the dancing had commenced. Even after all of that, Sylvie is still hard to pin down.
Relationships: Sylvie Brett/Matthew Casey
Comments: 20
Kudos: 169





	Thanks for Your Patience

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** I have no idea what this is going to be. I saw a picture on tumblr of a dapper looking guy with a woman's bare feet in his lap after spending a good portion of the day listening to Taylor Swift and started writing. We'll see where it goes.
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> Angellwings
> 
> PS - I feel like the wedding will not be as calm and enjoyable as I'm about to write it because Derek Haas can't let anyone tie the knot in peace. ALSO this is NOT a follow up to Accidents.
> 
> PPS - This also turned out to be a prompt fill for "I can't think straight with you".
> 
> * * *

* * *

"You've already won me over in spite of me,

And don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet.

And don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are.

I couldn't help it.

It's all your fault.

You are the bearer of unconditional things.

You held your breath and the door for me.

Thanks for your patience."

-"Head Over Feet" by Alanis Morissette

* * *

It's Joe and Chloe's day. He reminds himself. This is not a day for his own dramatics. Specifically, keeping an eye on both Gabby and the Chaplain (yes, Kyle Sheffield is here and, no, he had no idea Cruz and Chloe invited him — neither did Brett) while also being on the lookout for Sylvie. The wedding party had been introduced already, the eating was mostly done, and now the dancing had commenced. Even after all of that, Sylvie is still hard to pin down.

Gabby's laugh echoes from somewhere in the room and kick starts a wave of guilt and failure. He doesn't want Gabby back. He's past that. But he does feel guilty that he couldn't _make_ them work. He'd always imagined he'd marry only once in his lifetime, and he'd fucked that up already. He cranes his neck slightly, toward the laugh, and finds Gabby chatting excitedly with Mills. A wan smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Gabby's hand is on Peter's arm and her cheeks are a rosy shade of pink. Her eyes are bright and warm and intently focused on Mills. But, as if she senses his stare, she turns her head and meets his eyes.

She smiles faintly and gives him a weak awkward wave. He reciprocates. There's a moment of eye contact between them that feels significant. Like proof of maturity or growth. That's not the look she gave him last time. This is friendly acknowledgement and a recognition of the good times. Nothing more. Relief fills his chest before his eyes move to Mills. At this point, Peter has seen him too. Mills waves but his smile looks dry and less than enthusiastic.

Casey scoffs out a laugh as he waves again. He's laughing because he knows that look. He's been wearing it all day. He too is interested in someone whose ex is in attendance and he is also not excited to run into him.

Matt turns away from Gabby and Mills. Well, there's one potentially awkward moment resolved. Gabby is clearly more excited to see Peter Mills than Matt Casey and he is absolutely fucking fine with it. Apparently, November was important closure for both of them.

Another laugh hits his ears and this time he has a very different reaction. Hope. Happiness. _Impatience_. His head is suddenly on a swivel, glancing around the room for Sylvie and her laugh in every direction. He finds her, finally, but his stomach drops when he does — like he's in an elevator that's plummeting to the basement from the top of Willis Tower.

He sees Emily, smiling sardonically, and then standing across from Sylvie is Kyle Sheffield. Otherwise known as Brett's ex-fiance. The man who took her away from Chicago (and him if he's honest) for three months. He ignores the Chaplain for the moment, though, to get a good look at Sylvie.

The dark blue bridesmaid's dress looks breathtaking on her and with her hair twisted up and pinned to the back of her head her neck and shoulders are on full display. The thin straps expose plenty of her fair skin. His hands flex at his sides with the sudden urge to touch. He _won't_ but, Christ, does he want to. Her back is to him; however, he stared at her during almost the entire ceremony so he can already picture the way the blue of the dress sets off the blue of her eyes entirely from memory.

Foster catches him staring and smirks at him. Casey diverts his eyes just as Emily gently nudges Sylvie with her elbow. When he gets the nerve to look at her again, her eyes meet his with a bright cherry lipped smile. He takes a deep nervous breath and then crosses the room to them. He didn't start the day imagining he'd end up talking to Sylvie with her ex-fiance in tow but he's here now and he's going to make this work.

"Hey," Matt says as he approaches the group.

"Hi," Sylvie replies. She gives him a brief head-to-toe once over and then meets his eyes with a light pink flush. It only makes her more attractive.

"Casey," Foster greets with one slightly quirked brow and a crooked grin.

He nods in acknowledgment. "Foster."

Kyle extends a hand for a shake and smiles pleasantly at Matt. "Casey, good to see you again."

"Yeah, Chaplain, you too," Matt says as he accepts the handshake. Maybe, Matt shakes his hand a little more forcefully than normal. He shouldn't but then again he's only human. He can't repress _every_ emotion.

Kyle discretely shakes out his hand as he pulls it back. "You know," he says as he points over Sylvie's shoulder. "I haven't had a chance to talk to Chloe and Cruz yet," he tells them with an awkward clearing of his throat. "I should seize the opportunity while they're not mobbed by people."

Foster bites her bottom lip to stifle a knowing smile, and he thinks a chuckle as well. "I'll go with you." She gives Sylvie a quick wink. "See you two later."

"So," Matt begins as he turns himself to focus only on Sylvie. "You've been hard to track down today."

"A bridesmaid's work is never done," Sylvie answers with a chuckle. "Even now."

His brow furrows and curious grin pulls at his lips. "What?"

She leans toward him with a conspiratory whisper. "I have to give the Maid of Honor toast."

"Isn't Chloe's cousin the Maid of Honor?" Matt asks with a tilt of his head.

"And do you see her here?" Sylvie asks with a pointed glance. He takes a quick look around and then shakes his head. She's right. Chloe's cousin is nowhere to be found. Sylvie's whisper softens to keep anyone from accidentally overhearing her. "She's _sloshed_. I mean beyond _skunked_. Apparently, she's older than Chloe and a bit bitter that her little cousin is getting married before her. They sent her back to her hotel room to dry out."

He nods in understanding and smiles fondly at her. "So, of course, you volunteered to give her toast because you can't not offer your help when needed. Right?"

"No one else was stepping up so…"

"Mhm," He replies with a chuckle. "Of course."

"So, now I have to figure out what I'm going to say to a whole room full of Joe and Chloe's friends and family." She inhales deeply and gulps down her nerves. "No big deal. It's fine."

The high pitch of her voice tells him that it is a big deal and it's _not at all_ fine. He intercepts her hand as she reaches for her wrist, where her watch band would normally be. He does it on instinct, without a single second thought. It's not until her hand is in his that he realizes what he's done. And then the craziest thing happens…

He doesn't let go.

And neither does she.

So, he takes it a step further and threads their fingers together. She doesn't pull away. Not even a little bit. Her nervous wince brightens into a shy smile as her hand tightens around his.

"You've got this, Sylvie Brett," Matt assures her. "You're the most genuinely _good_ person I know. Just speak from the heart and you'll win everybody over - like you always do."

"Thank you," Sylvie replies with a blush. "That means a lot. Especially coming from you."

"Why especially me?" He asks in confusion.

"Because _you're_ the most genuinely good person that _I_ know, Matt Casey."

Okay, well, now _he's_ blushing. He's not sure how to reply to that. He's immensely flattered and honored, but "thanks" doesn't seem like enough of a response. He clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. A sheepish smile overtakes his face as his eyes drift out toward the dance floor. He may not know what to say, but he can think of something to _do_.

"Do you...wanna dance?" He asks as he points his thumb toward the gathering of swaying couples.

Sylvie's eyes light up in surprise. "Really?"

He laughs at her startled expression. "Why do you seem so shocked?"

"Well, for one, I've never really seen you dance and, two, I wasn't sure you'd want to dance _with me_ ," she admits with a self conscious glance in Dawson's direction.

He takes a step closer and then tugs on the hand he still holds to urge her closer as well. He meets her troubled indigo stare head on while responding. "If I'm going to dance at this wedding...then I only want to dance with _you_. No one else."

She takes a deep breath and then smiles so brightly he swears she illuminates the entire room. "That's good because I wasn't going to dance unless _you_ asked me."

And _that's_ how he ends up dancing nearly every dance despite knowing that he's making a complete ass of himself.

Surprisingly, he doesn't give a shit and he legitimately has _fun_. The dancing stops for the toasts (Sylvie's was the best of the bunch as he expected), the cake, the bouquet toss, and garter throw. But picks up again immediately after. Sylvie is _glowing_ — high on life and being over served champagne. She's laughing and touching easily. She's not drunk, but tipsy enough that her normal filters are a bit loose. She's a buzzing bouncing beam of sunlight and he falls a bit harder for every half hour or so.

Finally, she's had enough. She links her arm through his and brings her other hand to rest on his bicep while she drags him away from the dance floor and the rest of 51. She collapses onto a bench in the back of the ballroom, near the exit, and then pats the empty space next to her.

"Sit!" She insists. "I just need a minute to get these adorable torture devices off of my feet."

She must be more buzzed than he thinks because she's squinting at the tiny straps on her pointy heels and can't seem to get the end of the strap pulled through the buckle.

He breathes out a soft snicker and takes the spot she offered him. "Alright, you're gonna lay off the champagne," he orders with a fond smile. He points at her foot and pats his thigh. "Let me see it."

"Ever the gentleman," Sylvie praises in a quiet voice while she props one foot on his thigh. She leans against the arm of the bench and watches him fumble with the thin strap. Her stare does not make it any easier to get his calloused fingers around the delicate slip of patent leather. "I have something to tell you." A beat and then. "That I wasn't going to tell you."

"Is this a trap?" Matt asks her with narrowed eyes.

"Nope!" She says, popping the 'p'. "I don't do traps."

He finally manages to pull the strap through the buckle and slips the nude colored shoe off of her foot. "Then why weren't you going to tell me?" He sets her now bare foot aside and then carefully wraps a hand around the other ankle to bring it to his thigh instead.

"Because it's a little embarrassing...for me."

"Okay," he says as he briefly stops working with the strap to give her a worried glance. "What's up?"

She bites her bottom lip and trucks a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. The attention she draws to her mouth makes him want to kiss her, and makes him hyper aware of her smooth skin underneath his palms. He sucks in a fortifying breath and forces himself to focus on her shoe again. Why are these straps so ridiculously thin and the buckles so tiny?

"Well, Kyle thinks you and I are dating," she blurts out just as he gets the second strap pulled through. He slips the heel off of her foot and sets it aside with it's twin. He's just registering her initial statement when she adds more to it. "And I didn't tell him we weren't."

Huh, interesting. "You didn't correct him?"

"No. I, um, I didn't want to."

She tries to remove her foot from his lap but he keeps a firm but gentle grip on it as he leans back into the bench and against the wall. He studies her expression carefully. Her eyes are wide and anxious, her lips are pursed, and her fingers are idly ringing circles around her wrist. She's expecting some sort of negative reaction from him. He snorts in amusement and aims half a smile at her. She won't get one.

"I'm not seeing the problem," he tells her. "Or how it's embarrassing."

"It's not a problem," she clarifies. "But it is embarrassing."

Her insistence on that point stings a little, he'll admit. "Why is it embarrassing? If you don't want people thinking you'd date me, just tell them you aren't."

"That's _not_ why it's embarrassing," she mutters. "That would never be a reason to be embarrassed."

"Then what is it?" He asks, purposefully holding her gaze.

She huffs out a breath as her cheeks flush. She scrubs her hands across her face, smudging her mascara and eyeliner just slightly. "He's not the first person to think that, you know?" She asks as she holds her hands over her reddening cheeks. "Julie thought so. Olivia told me we were made for each other or something. I can't remember the exact words. And Foster teases me about it all the time. Do you-do you know what that means?"

That those people might be especially perceptive?

"What do you think it means?"

"It means my crush on you is so pathetically obvious that literally everyone-" she squeaks and stops suddenly. She slaps a hand over her mouth and slams her eyes shut. The hand slowly comes down but her eyes stay closed. "Shit. Oh, fucking _shit_."

His eyebrows have lifted and his eyes have widened. He has to work very hard to swallow down his laugh and cover a grin with his hand. Two things he wasn't sure he'd ever hear her say just slipped out of her mouth. "Wow, Sylvie Brett, _language_ ," he teases with a smirk.

"No, no, no, _no_ ," she mumbles with a shake of her head. "I wasn't supposed to say that outloud."

He reaches down and pulls her other foot into his lap. He rests one hand on her calf and the other on her ankle. "Why is that?"

"Matt," she says with a sigh, ignoring his question. "Can we not do this? Can you just pretend I never said it?"

"No," he replies sternly. He knows she has no idea what he feels but even so he's offended by that suggestion. "No, we can't."

"Why not?" She asks with a slight whine behind her words — that he finds entirely too adorable.

"Because I'm glad you said it," he states. He lifts a hand from her calf and grasps her fingers, interlocking them with his own. "Because I have a pretty huge crush myself, and because I don't want to correct The Chaplain either."

Her eyes fly open and collide with his. Indigo to powder blue. Night sky to day. Dark and determined against shocked and hopeful.

When she speaks her voice sounds hoarse with disbelief. "You-you _what_?"

He scoffs and chuckles. Once again, her shock confounds him just as it did when he asked her to dance. "You can't be _that_ surprised. Sylvie, I just sat here and undid the annoying straps on your shoes so you wouldn't have to try and figure them out while tipsy. Do you think I do that for _every_ woman I know?"

"No?" she says with uncertainty. "I-I don't know. I can't think straight with you. I get all turned around between what's you being an amazing friend and what's you being interested in me. Sometimes I can't tell the difference."

He's loathe to admit it, but she has a fair point. He's not been overly demonstrative with his feelings up until this point. "I'll work on that," he promises. "Come on, let's go get you some water or a coffee or something."

She doesn't agree but she also doesn't protest. She looks a bit dazed and confused, like she's still connecting all the dots. Yeah, she's definitely had too much champagne.

He slides her legs off of his lap and stands first. He turns and takes both of Sylvie's hands and pulls her to her feet. The shoes he discarded are still on the floor so he scoops them up and loops the straps around his fingers. Her fingers slide through his once again and then her other hand comes up to curve around his bicep. Nothing else is said as they make their way back to the dining tables. It's a comfortable silence that tells Matt that Sylvie is still thinking over their conversation.

She stumbles when her bare feet get tangled in her skirt, but he easily steadies her. Her hand on his upper arm tightened as she tripped, pulling him closer. They end up face to face and chest to chest — their lips mere centimeters apart. But, instead of kissing her like he really wants to, he takes a step back and then guides her into a chair at the nearest table.

"Coffee? Or water?" He asks her.

He sees disappointment on her face and he knows why. But, call him crazy, he's not sure their first kiss should happen in a room full of their friends and exes.

"Both, please," Sylvie answers with a sigh. "And just so we're clear. I'm not drunk. I'm tipsy. Let's establish that distinction now. I'm not too impaired to know my own mind. Clear?"

He can't resist a small grin at the clipped frustration in her tone. He knows he should because she's being deathly serious. But he can't.

"Copy that," he confirms.

He sets her shoes down in the chair next to her and then wanders off in search of water and coffee. He's located a bottle of water and is on his way to the bar where they're keeping the coffee when he's stopped by Gabby.

"Hey, sorry," he says quickly. "I would stop and chat but…" he vaguely gestures toward where he left Brett but hesitates actually saying it outloud.

Gabby gives him a small dry grin and nods. "This won't take long."

"O—okay," Matt stutters with a wary glance. "What's up?"

"I just...I wanted to say I'm happy for you, Matt. I'm happy that you're happy," she tells him as her eyes slide past him to Sylvie and then back to him again. "I won't lie and say it's not a little weird for me, but you're the two best people in the world so—" She cuts herself off with a scoffing chuckle and shrugs. "It actually makes a lot of sense. Strangely enough."

His eyes widen and his posture relaxes. There was a fifty-fifty chance this could have gone full passive aggressive blow out. It's always hard to tell which end of the spectrum you'll get with Gabby. This pragmatic and supportive reaction is the absolute best version he could ever have imagined. He's immensely relieved.

He nods and then smiles gratefully. "Thanks. I agree with you. It does make a lot of sense. Surprisingly. I'll be honest, I never saw it coming."

"She snuck up on you, huh?" Gabby asks with a smirk. "Sounds like Brett. Well, I'll let you get back to it. I really just wanted you to know that I get it and you deserve all the happiness you can stand, Matt. Truly."

"Same to you," he replies as he tries to discreetly nod toward Mills. "He's watching us, you know."

Gabby's smile brightens and her cheeks warm very slightly. "I'm aware."

Matt laughs and shakes his head at her. "Alright, had to make sure."

"Don't worry about me," Gabby replies with a smirk. "I've got the situation under control."

"Wouldn't expect anything less from a Dawson," Matt tells her with a teasing lift of his brow. "Good luck."

He goes on his way, leaving Dawson and Mills behind, and finally tracks down a cup of coffee. When he makes it back to the table, Sylvie looks pensive. There's a wrinkled pinch in between her brows that reminds him of how she looks after a particularly disheartening call. He sets the bottle of water and cup of coffee down in front of her and then moves her shoes so he can take the chair next to her.

She wordlessly picks up the cup of coffee and cradles it with both hands. She takes a couple of sips and still doesn't look up at him or utter a single word.

"You okay?" He asks in concern.

"I...I need to make sure—" Her eyes lift from the table and drift to the spot where he'd chatted with Gabby. "You _did_ say you like me earlier, right?"

Understanding dawns and he smiles softly as he nods. "I did. Actually I think my exact words were 'pretty huge crush' but like works too, I guess."

She still looks doubtful. He bites back a sigh. He understands her concerns. Hell, he started the night feeling the very same way. Sylvie potentially hitting off with the Chaplain all over again had him freaking out. Sylvie had managed to soothe those fears. He wants to do the same for her.

"Gabby stopped me to congratulate me," he tells her.

"Congratulate you?" She asks, daring to meet his eyes. "For what?"

He grins and lifts a careless shoulder. "On being happy. On dating you."

"But we aren't—"

"I know," he clarifies.

"And you didn't tell her that?" She asks as a tiny smile begins to form on her face.

He shakes his head and pulls one of Sylvie's hands away from her mug to hold it in his. "Didn't seem important."

"So," she asks, setting the mug down and angling herself to face him. "If my ex thinks we're dating and your ex thinks we're dating, does that make us each other's wedding dates?"

His grin widens into a smile. "Perception can sometimes be reality, right?"

She nods. "Guess so. Any chance of you asking me out on an actual date once the wedding is over?"

"I'd say more than just a chance, yeah," Matt answers with a soft chuckle.

"I'll hold you to that," Sylvie tells him with a playful glare.

He sweeps a hand in front of him, palm up, in a welcoming gesture. "Be my guest, but you won't have to. I've stalled on this long enough. I'm not doing that anymore."

"No?" She asks with a hopeful smile.

"No, in fact, I'm free tomorrow night if you want to-"

"Yes!"

He meets her eyes with a smirk and a startled expression. Her eyes are wide like his as if she shocked herself too.

She flushes deep red and swallows thickly. She sounds much more composed when she speaks up again. "I mean, yes. I'm free tomorrow night. That sounds fun."

He laughs and squeezes her hand in a comforting gesture. "Then it's a date."

"I won't wear heels or over do it on champagne next time," she promises sheepishly.

"Do or don't. I'm fine either way," he tells her. "I don't mind carrying your shoes if you need me to."

She shakes her head at him with a look of disbelief and wonder. "You are too good, Matt Casey."

He feels himself blushing and can't seem to think of a single suitable reply. If she thinks he's 'too good' then hopefully that means he's _good enough_.

"Feelings mutual, Sylvie Brett."


End file.
